


Free Drinks (aren't always free)

by Erin_Leigh



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Gay Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn, its 2am i can't remember how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28006533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erin_Leigh/pseuds/Erin_Leigh
Summary: We make out like horny teenagers, his hands on my ass and his flavor on our tongues. If I’m not careful, I’m going to end up rutting against him, and I don’t think the ruffled front of this dress is going to hide my very hard, very excited boner.“I want to take you somewhere,” he says between kisses and pants.I want him to. Oh, god, do I want to go anywhere with him.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Free Drinks (aren't always free)

Where is the line that separates having a little fun and taking advantage of someone?

I’m not really sure, but if the universe didn’t want me to do this, then it would make it harder to manipulate guys for free drinks.

It’s not that I’m a bad person, I think; I’m just a poor college student who dresses up as a woman to get men to buy me drinks. One trip to a thrift store landed me a wig, heels, and a dress; the grocery store had a cheap makeup kit. Online tutorials took care of the rest.

It’s pretty easy, since I’ve never been a big or bulky guy. All I do is flirt a little, get free drinks, start a petty fight to make them lose interest, and leave.

And, well, it’s fun. I enjoy the thrill of bending men to my whim with just the right look or touch. It would be great if I had the same confidence to flirt with guys as my normal self, but it’s so much easier to find guys who like women.

Tonight, though, the bar is pretty quiet. I sit at the bar with my long legs crossed, freshly shaven and ready to impress. I’m trying to look lonely and forlorn all by myself, hoping someone will come in and take the bait.

I hear the squeak of the door and several voices laughing and talking indistinctly, and look over my shoulder to see a group of five men walk in from outside. I size them up, trying to get a read on which one seems like a good mark.

One is short and stocky, and seems to be trying too hard to look hipster-cool. Not my type. Next.

There is a tall and lanky guy, dressed in a designer polo and expensive golf slacks. That’s a maybe.

The guy in the sleeveless denim jacket looks like he just got done working on some kind of car or motorcycle, a bit of black smudged right under his jawline. He probably smelled like oil or grease. Nope.

My eyes land on black hair, black clothes, black jeans… and skip right on by. To each their own, but goth just isn’t my thing.

The best was saved for last: a cute blond with a plain T-shirt and blue jeans. There was a watch on his wrist that was nice, but not overly flashy.

Yep. He was my guy.

I keep my lips together, trying not to grin as I follow him with my eyes. I almost want him to ignore me entirely. He is exactly my type, a nice athletic build and clean-shaven, with his hair buzzed along the sides and a little poufy on top. I want to run my fingers through it.

If he doesn’t notice me, then there’s that tiny bit of hope he might be into men enough to not chase after random women.

But he looks my way and smiles.

Damn.

I give a shy smile and let my eyes flick down and back up, as if I’m nervous under his attention. It works like a charm, because he says something to his friends and they all look my way. Two of them grin and the goth gives a thumbs up, and I watch my drink ticket laugh as he turns away from them to walk toward me.

“Hi there,” he says, stopping short of my personal space respectfully.

Double damn, he’s even cuter up close. Blue eyes and freckles. Was this my punishment for scamming lonely guys?

Well, if it was, I sure as hell was going to get my drink.

“Hi,” I say in a soft voice and twist one of my wig’s golden locks around a finger. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Yeah. The guys and I usually hit up a place down the street.” He shrugs. “Thought it’d be fun to try out a new spot.”

I smile. “Well, I’m glad you tried here tonight.”

“Me, too.” A grin breaks out across his face and he nods his head toward the seat next to me. “Mind if I sit down?”

“I’d mind if you didn’t,” I tease. “But what about your friends?”

He chuckles as he sits down. “They can find their own dates.”

I playfully lean back with a look of surprise. “Wow! That’s awfully presumptuous of you. You haven’t even bought me a drink and you’re calling me your date?”

“You’re right.” He looks away to make eye contact with the bartender, who nods in acknowledgement, and then back at me. “What do you want?”

I hum in thought. What haven’t I gotten to enjoy in a while? “Long Island Iced Tea.”

He blinks a bit, then laughs. “Would you believe me if I said that’s my favorite?”

“No way, really?” I prop my elbow on the counter and rest my chin in my hand, smiling. “I knew there was something I liked about you.”

His eyes dart away with a hint of shyness as his grin pulls at the corners of his lips. “What’s your name?” he asks, looking at me again.

“Robin.” It’s not a lie. It’s just my middle name.

He pauses to give the bartender our order, then turns back to me. “Sorry. I’m Peter.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Peter.”

I just wish I could meet you as me and still get that same smile out of you.

“Okay.” He puts his hand on the counter and leans in. “Now that I bought you a drink, is it all right for me to call you my date for tonight?”

Heat crawls up my cheeks as I involuntarily lean in, too, like I’m being pulled into orbit against my will. I quickly straighten my back and try to brush it off with a soft laugh. “Sure, why not?”

Our twin drinks are placed in front of us, and I quickly take a sip to wet my dry mouth. It’s sweet to the taste, but burns on the way down. I relax as the liquid courage warms my chest.

He mentions his interest in marine biology, and I don’t have to feign interest as I prompt him for facts about the ocean and the creatures within it. The sincerity in his voice as he talks about something he genuinely enjoys is almost as intoxicating as the drink.

I don’t know whether it’s the alcohol kicking in, or just something about Peter, but he’s easy to talk to.

Too easy, because the moment I let it slip that I attend Dukat University, his eyes light up.

“Really?” He grins. “Me, too!”

Well, shit.

If this was a cartoon, there would be alarm bells and sirens and probably some steam coming out of my ears.

He’s asking what classes I’m taking and what I think of Professor Jerry, but I’m fumbling with my phone.

“Oh, shit,” I say as I stand up. The room wobbles a bit, but my legs hold strong in spite of the high heels. “Sorry, but I have to go.”

I don’t hear what he says. My entire focus is on trying to order a ride through my phone before I get to the door so I can get away as soon as possible.

The cool night air is a pleasant jolt back to a clearer state of mind. I sigh and do everything I can not to look back. I can’t tell if I want him to come after me or not. My mind screams no, of course not, but... 

Keep it together. It was just one drink. One very boozy drink, and one very cute guy.

A car pulls up and I have just enough sense to double check the license plate before climbing into the backseat. Thankfully, I don’t have to talk to the driver. The app takes care of everything.

I don’t let my guard down until the car has pulled away. Shit, shit, shit. That was too close.

There are thousands of students at Dukat, I tell myself. I wasn’t taking any statistics courses, but I’m sure if I did, I’d know that the odds were heavily in my favor.

Once I’m safely inside my apartment, I stumble toward the couch. I have enough energy to throw the wig on the coffee table and kick off one of my heels before I crash face-first onto the cushions.

It feels like I’d only just closed my eyes when my alarm goes off. I feel like absolute shit, and when I drag myself into the bathroom, my reflection looks even worse. Full-on raccoon eyes, hair completely mussed up, and dress wrinkled.

I sigh and take a long, hot shower to remove all traces of Robin, returning to simple, boring Brayden. Then I grab my bag and head to my first class of the day. Before that, though, I stop at a café near my apartment to get the largest cup of coffee they have. This hangover isn’t going to take care of itself.

Of course, when I cross the threshold into the classroom, I realize how little I know about statistics.

Because right there in the third row is Peter.

I almost consider bailing, but there’s someone behind me trying to follow me in. I have no choice. I walk forward, unable to stop glancing at Peter. Our eyes meet, and although I don’t see any surprise or hints of recognition, I freeze anyway.

We stare at each other, and he smiles. I smile awkwardly back, then hurry to the furthest seat away from him.

There’s no way he’d recognize me, right? After all, right now, I’m just an average-looking skinny dude. If people could accept that Superman wore glasses to hide his identity, surely an entire makeover would work even better.

I see the professor. I hear the professor. I nod at random. But I don’t take a single note, because it’s hard enough to not keep looking at the back of Peter’s head. Finding room in my racing thoughts to actually absorb the lecture is pretty much impossible right now.

When class is over, much to my dismay, Peter looks back and catches me still staring at him.

He smiles again, and it’s unbelievably cute. I try to shove my feelings back into a little box, because he’s either bisexual like me, or straight. And considering how bad I clearly am at statistics, I don’t like my odds.

That Friday night, after a week of doing everything I can to stop looking at Peter and failing every time, I’m ready to get smashed. I head to a bar that’s a little further than my normal ones, but I really hope to avoid another encounter with him.

So that’s why, of course, when I’m three drinks in and ready to go home, who walks in the door? Peter and his friends.

Did this make me incredibly lucky or horribly unlucky? Should I go buy a lottery ticket?

The guy I’ve gotten to buy me a couple drinks—I think his name starts with an E?—sees my wandering eyes. “You know him?” he asks.

“No,” I say while nodding.

E-man frowns. He sees Peter look my way, sees the smile. “Sure seems like he knows you.”

I swallow and remind myself that I’m drunk, which means it’s time to shake him off and go home. “He’s just a guy I know,” I say with a rising false anger. “What, do you think you own a girl just because you buy her a couple drinks?”

Whatever his name is makes an indistinct grunt of frustration in the back of his throat. “The fuck?”

I give a dramatic roll of my eyes and stand. One foot wants to send me crashing down, but the other stays strong and I only wobble a little bit as I start to walk away.

Peter, of course, is watching. He leaves his friends behind to meet me halfway to the door. “Everything okay?” His eyes flick behind me. “Was that guy bothering you?”

I suck in a quick breath. The door is right there. I could maybe run for it.

But, well, me and odds weren’t friends. I’d probably break an ankle.

So I sigh and push some of the blonde hair behind my ear. “Not really. Just a little too clingy.”

He nods, slowly, his eyes returning to mine.

I should get out of here.

But there is something in his eyes that keeps my feet firmly planted where they are. And I feel the wonderful buzz of alcohol, the way the world is fuzzy, and—oh, damn the odds.

I lean in to kiss him. He responds quickly with a hand against my waist, as if he’s staking his claim. Then he slips his tongue past my lips, and as I let him in, that’s the moment I think: I’m too drunk to think straight.

I try not to laugh with his tongue in my mouth. Oh, yeah, there’s definitely nothing straight about the way I’m thinking right now.

He pulls back, and we stare at each other for a moment before he says, “We should go to my place.”

I almost agree, but then I remember the reality of my situation. I glance away. “I’m not that kind of girl,” I mumble.

I’m not sure who’s more disappointed, me or him. I guess me, because then I bite my lip and look up at him.

“But we could compromise.” My eyes flick to the door to the men’s room.

He follows them and blinks in clear surprise. I can see the gears working in his head, some kind of debate taking place, probably not unlike my own mental wrestling.

Then he says, “Let’s go.”

I know I’ll regret this, but god, I’ve never felt more alive when he takes my hand and leads the way to the bathroom. He checks the stalls and, the moment he nods, I flip the lock on the door. The little click sound it makes is the last straw that breaks my resolve.

I push him up against the wall and slide down until I’m on my knees in front of him. I unzip his pants and carefully pull out his growing erection.

“Don’t pull my hair,” I warn with the last bit of common sense I have left. “I hate that.”

I lick the underside from base to tip, then take the head in my mouth and try to remember how to suck. I know about the suction part, but between the alcohol and my arousal, it’s hard to coordinate more than one thing at a time.

I wrap my fingers around the shaft with the intent to stroke in sync with the bob of my head. The movements are awkward and lack any rhythm, so I settle for just holding him firmly in place as I put all of my focus on moving my head, hollowing my cheeks, and doing anything with my tongue except letting it remain passive.

“God,” he says, his hands hovering just above my head.

It’s enough encouragement for me to try stroking again. This time is a little more successful as my lips meet my fingers halfway down his shaft. I can do this, I think. I can absolutely do this.

So I move my hand away and try to take him as deep as I can.

“Almost,” he grunts out. There’s tension in his voice, and I realize he’s not moving.

What a gentleman, not face-fucking a woman in a bar’s restroom.

For a second, I almost forget there’s a dick in my mouth and laugh, but I stifle it to just a slight tightening of my throat. That turns out to be exactly what he needed, because I can feel him pulse against my tongue.

He groans, and I gag when he comes down my throat, filling my mouth with that distinct flavor that isn’t quite salty, isn’t quite bitter, and isn’t at all unpleasant.

I keep my head down, pumping his shaft with one hand to take everything he has to give until he’s completely spent.

He reaches down and takes my hand in his, pulling me to my feet and crashing his lips onto mine.

God, I absolutely love it when someone wants to kiss after I’ve gone down on them.

We make out like horny teenagers, his hands on my ass and his flavor on our tongues. If I’m not careful, I’m going to end up rutting against him, and I don’t think the ruffled front of this dress is going to hide my very hard, very excited boner.

“I want to take you somewhere,” he says between kisses and pants.

I want him to. Oh, god, do I want to go anywhere with him.

My skull suddenly feels too small for my brain as I shake my head. “I don’t go home with guys when I’m drunk.”

He pauses, then sighs against my lips and pulls back to give me a lopsided grin. “I can’t really argue with being safe. You’re too smart.”

I smile and kiss him, softly this time. “Maybe next time, if you catch me before someone else can buy me a drink.”

Then I step back. He starts to tuck himself into his jeans, and I head straight out the door, already pulling out my phone to get a ride.

Robin was compromised.

More than that, I was compromised.

Maybe I needed to get a new wig, do some different makeup.

Or, maybe, I should stop this. It suddenly didn’t seem worth it anymore.

I donʼt know. All I know is that I spend the entire weekend hiding from the world in my apartment, staring at my wig and dress with aching regret. 

On Monday, I drag myself into class, nursing a large cup of coffee. I’m not hungover, and that is somehow making everything harder.

I try not to look, but when Peter shows up a couple minutes later, I glance at him. I hate how my heart does a little jump at the sight of him smiling and laughing with one of his friends.

He probably thinks he’s going to take Robin home soon.

I feel a little guilty. Okay, a lot guilty.

I sigh and take out my textbook, flipping it open to the section I was supposed to have read over the weekend and trying not to wonder what would have happened if I was really Robin, and if I’d said yes.

The lecture runs a little long, which means I’ve missed the bus and I’ll have to wait an extra thirty minutes before I can get to my apartment. As I’m crossing the parking lot toward the bus stop, I catch sight of Peter leaning against a car. He smiles when our eyes meet and starts walking over to me.

“Hey,” he says so casually that I jolt in surprise.

Have we interacted as Peter and Brayden? No, I’m pretty certain we’ve just made eye contact awkwardly in class sometimes. I was basically a stranger.

So I reply more like a question than a greeting, “Hey?”

“I was wondering if I could get your number.”

My heart nearly leaps out of my chest. I look around as if someone else might have an answer, then back at him. “What?”

He smiles that cute, charming, wonderful little smile that crinkles his eyes with its sincerity. “I thought maybe we could hang sometime, since you don’t seem to like spending time in the bar with me and the guys.”

There it goes. Goodbye, heart. It’s halfway across the country by now.

I stammer, “I, uh. I, you know. Well.” I swallow hard and run a hand through my hair. “Listen. I’m sorry. I wasn’t… God, you must think I’m a pervert.” I drag my hand down to cover my eyes. “Swear to god, I’ve never gone that far before. I’m not some freak who—”

“Whoa, whoa.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “Calm down. No one was accusing you of being a pervert.”

I take a deep breath and look down at my feet. “It was just a way to get free drinks, have a little laugh, and leave before anything happened.” I glance up at him. “Until you.”

He’s silent for a long moment. A long, long moment. Then he chuckles and scratches the back of his neck. “I’m not going to pretend I’m not flattered by that.”

I wait to see if he’ll say more, and when he doesn’t, I feel like my stomach is trying to twist itself into a pretzel.

“I really like you,” I say, tentative and uncertain.

He leans in slowly, pausing to stare into my eyes. I close them as his lips touch mine, and he pulls me into an embrace with both arms around my waist.

This kiss is everything the bathroom make-out session wasn’t. It’s soft and sweet and slow, and I melt against him.

Then he breaks it to ask, “Just so we’re on the same page, you’re telling me that you’re Robin?”

It’s a good thing he’s still holding me up, because my knees buckle as if they’ve been kicked out from under me. “What?”

“I’m not judging,” he quickly adds. “It’s fine. Unexpected, but fine.”

My mouth flaps open and closed as I try to remember how speaking works. I just make a couple unintelligible sounds.

“I was just going to invite this guy in my class out to hang with me and my friends,” he continues, grinning a little bit. “He’s cute and seems shy and I never saw him outside of class, so I thought maybe he might be lonely or something.”

“But—” Finally, I cover my face with both hands. “Oh my fucking god, I feel so stupid.”

He chuckles and pulls my hands away from my face. “You’re not stupid. You’re just… really, really cute.”

He kisses me, and I find myself relaxing under his soft touch.

I sigh against his lips. “Does it change things now that you know I’m Robin?”

He pulls back and looks at me for a moment. “I don’t know. Do you want it to?”

I try to bite my lip to keep a grin at bay. “I mean, you know. It wouldn’t be so bad if you were like, ‘oh shit, the cute guy in my class can also suck dick while wearing four-inch heels’.”

“Well,” he says, lowering his head to kiss the side of my neck. “I’m not going to kick you out of bed for it.”

I shiver and incline my head to the side to give him more access. “Is the offer you made about going home with you still on the table? ‘Cause I’m sober now.”

He laughs, and the hot breath brushing along my neck is somehow more sensual than the kissing was. “Sure, if you want to go home with a guy who just learned that the cute guy he’s crushing on wears women’s clothing every now and then.”

I give a playfully exaggerated sigh. “Not usually my type, but I can make an exception.”

He takes my hand in his and leads me over to his car. He opens the passenger door for me, and when I climb in, I notice the car is in really good condition. No take-out bags, no crushed receipts on the floor. Not even random forgotten change in one of the cup holders.

It isn’t long before we pull up in front of a house and get out. I hesitate when I recognize it as one of the campus fraternity houses.

“I, uh.” I glance at him. “Are you sure?”

He smiles as he unlocks the door. “Of course I am.”

I follow him inside, and he flicks on the light to illuminate a small entryway that leads to a set of stairs. I glance around, suddenly nervous. What if this is some kind of prank? What if the guys in his fraternity are putting him up to this as some kind of hazing?

I swallow. “Is anyone else going to be here? Your friends or roommates or anything?”

He laughs quietly and shakes his head before placing a soft kiss on the side of my head. “No, it’s just you and me right now.”

“Good,” I mutter, relaxing, just a little.

He nods and takes my hand in his again to lead me up the stairs and through a door on the left. It’s his bedroom, I assume. It’s just as clean and tidy as his car was. There is a desk that has some scattered notebooks and pens, but all of his laundry is in its hamper.

Maybe I am getting ahead of myself, but I am already making a mental note to clean the shit out of my apartment before I ever let him over.

I walk over to the bed and sit on the edge, each movement stiff and uncertain.

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. After all, a couple nights ago, I was on my knees in a public restroom sucking him off.

But this is different.

This is me. The real me.

I’ve never felt more exposed and vulnerable.

He crawls onto the bed next to me, sitting with one leg tucked under him as he kisses me softly, one hand roaming along my side and hip. I close my eyes as he slowly guides me onto my back, and I let my own hands explore the broad expanse of his shoulders.

He reaches down and touches my clothed erection. I gasp involuntarily as he begins to rub it through my pants. I start working on his belt when he reaches down to help, but then pauses.

“Do you want to go further?” he asks gently.

I arch my brow. “Do I seem unwilling?”

A smile spreads across his face. “Well, I just don’t want to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

I grab his shirt and make a show of trying to pull it over his head. “I can’t think of a single thing you could do to me that I wouldn’t be comfortable with right now.”

He laughs, moving his arms to help me undress him. Then his hands are on me again, touching and teasing every part that’s exposed as I’m trying to get my shirt off as quickly as I can. I gasp and arch against him as he drags a fingernail over one nipple, then the other.

His lips and teeth caress and scrape their way down my body, humming with delight as he gets my pants and boxers down far enough that my erection springs free. It slaps against my stomach before bouncing back and jutting into the air eagerly.

He grins as he begins to tease me with one hand around my shaft, his grip purposefully too gentle. I thrust my hips up into the loose circle of his fingers and pant a few sounds to try to express my need for him.

I gasp as his grip tightens and his strokes speed up. His hand moves faster, squeezes harder, pulling groans and moans out of me until I’m tense and ready to burst.

Then, he moves his hand away and whispers, “Lay on your side.”

I obey in an instant, twisting and stretching out on one side, my back to him. I feel him move behind me, and he spoons me with his body pressed to mine for as much contact as possible. One arm drapes over my side and he takes my cock back in hand, and the agonizingly soft and slow strokes return.

“Do you want me to go further?” he asks, grinding his own erection against my bare ass.

“Please,” I whine in the back of my throat.

He gently kisses the back of my neck as his hand moves to my waist, then caresses the skin of my hip thigh. His lips move to my ear and he asks, “Do you trust me?”

I nod my head as he starts to massage my inner thigh. He moves his lips from my cheek to my neck, where he sucks hard enough to leave a hickey. I moan in delight at the pain and, in the back of my mind, hope it leaves a bruise that heals as slow as possible.

He slips a hand between my legs and gently squeezes my testicles. “Do you like that?”

I moan out a broken “yes” as I grind back against him. The hand continues to massage and squeeze while his other slides between us to tease my hole. He works a finger inside, and I shiver in surprise at the sudden sensation. He kisses and sucks the same spot on my neck as he moves the finger out and further in.

Then a second finger joins it and he begins to pick up the pace. His hand moves to my cock to stroke up and down in rhythm with the press of his fingers in and out. I reach down to grasp at his thigh, fingernails digging into his skin as I squirm against him.

He slides his hand from my balls to grab my leg and hold it up in the air, giving his other hand more access as he thrusts his fingers all the way in and back out, faster, harder.

God, I don’t care if I’m not stretched enough at this point. I can’t take any more.

“Please,” I beg.

He chuckles and withdraws his fingers, pulling a whimper from me that I can’t hold back. The hand on my thigh pulls my leg higher into the air as he positions himself at my entrance. He takes my neck with his mouth again, and when he pushes his cock inside, he bites down right on the sensitive flesh he’d already abused.

The sound I make can’t be summed up in one word. It’s not a cry or a moan or a groan. It’s something primal and animalistic as I’m trapped between the delightful pain of his teeth, the burning stretch as he fills me completely.

I twist my head toward him and he releases my neck to kiss me as he starts to thrust. There is no more care or caution; he keeps my leg spread wide, and he takes me with full force.

It’s rough, it’s hard, and it’s amazing.

I bury one hand in his hair, which is just as soft and fluffy as I’d thought the first time I’d seen it, and stroke my aching erection with the other hand.

Without the alcohol to blur my senses, I manage to find the rhythm of his body and mine. I slide my hand down as he slides in, and in the haze of desire and pleasure, it almost feels like we’re fucking each other.

My whole body is rocked with each movement, and the kiss becomes a sloppy press of lips and teeth against lips, chin, cheek; it’s hard to be precise when neither of us can be still for even a moment.

I feel my orgasm building and move my hand faster. He somehow notices this change, lets go of my leg to grab my wrist, and pulls my arm up to my chest.

“Not yet,” he growls. “Not yet.”

He pushes me over onto my stomach, then moves on top of me with his legs between mine to force them apart. With a single quick thrust, he’s back inside, and the new angle reaches even deeper within me.

My erection is trapped between my stomach and the bed, and I’m helpless as he all but fucks me into the mattress. Each sound forced out of me is just one long, continual gasping moan that grows more breathless with each slam of his groin against my ass.

Just as I don’t know if I can catch my breath, I lose myself to my orgasm. I manage a high-pitched cry and my body tenses up; I feel him more intensely as I tighten around him, and he grunts with one last thrust.

We both spill into the trapped spaces our members are in; me, soaking the sheets, and him, filling me up. He holds himself up for a few moments longer, the last of his jitters ending in a slight shiver, before he collapses onto the bed beside me.

After a long moment of just staring at nothing and gasping for air, he rolls over and drapes an arm over my back.

“So,” he says in a strained voice, and I turn my head to see him grinning. “Do the same rules apply?”

It’s a miracle I can understand the words he’s saying when my whole body is tingling and my brain is caught in a post-orgasmic haze. I just frown at him in confusion.

“Buy you a drink, it’s a date.” His grin widens. “Have sex, we’re boyfriends?”

I try to laugh. It’s more of a wheeze. “Sure.” I manage to say. “Why not?”

**Author's Note:**

> ❤️ Thank you for reading! Every kudo means the world to me.  
> 💬 Want to connect? [I'm on Twitter!](https://twitter.com/AuthorErinLeigh)  
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